


Stubborn idiot

by winterkills00



Category: Afdeling Q | Department Q (Movies)
Genre: Choking, Hand Job, Handcuffs, Journal 64 spoiler, M/M, No Condom, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi Non-Con, Tsundere Carl Mørck, Unresolved Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 00:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20165218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkills00/pseuds/winterkills00
Summary: Carl gets some of his frustrations out, Assad is just on for the ride.





	Stubborn idiot

**Author's Note:**

> Slowly getting my Afdeling Q fics up here.. more to come..

Carl’s fucking stubborn- he won’t admit it- he doesn’t say anything for days, bites his lip and grinds his teeth, keeps it in. Assad sees the wheels turning, the insults spitting out but he knows Carl’s hurting. It overflows in the end- he doesn’t remember what triggers it, a comment he made about the fucking report- whatever- Carl’s on him in a second.

Assad came over to check on him at his apartment, it’s dark and smells like booze, Carl’s staggering when he tackles him to the sofa. Assads hands try to grab at him, to calm him down with a “Carl come on-“ until he hears the familiar click of handcuffs. “For fucks sake Carl!” His right hand has been handcuffed to the metal bar behind him. He should had seen it coming, Carl will do whatever it takes to get what he wants, even if it hurts others. They hadn’t done anything else than argue the past days and Assad had felt fucking hurt about it.

He started struggling a bit again but Carl has put his entire weight on his lap, breathing drunkenly into his sweater, still not fucking talking to him. Assad grinds his teeth, he can play the stubborn game too, until Carl starts to open his belt and zipper, pressing his warm fingers against his groin. Assad bites back a moan, it’s been so fucking long, and he’s been eyeing Carl’s fingers for days, gripping around a mug or playing with his pen. Now he feels them real and close around his cock, making him harder with every stroke.

Carl snorts into his sweater, still having this effect on Assad makes it so fucking bittersweet, he almost wants to rip the handcuffs from the metal bar and push Carl off. Almost. “Just fucking.. say it..”

Assad bites it out and Carl pretends he doesn’t hear it. He fully ignores his request and slides a hand under his sweater and T-shirt. Assad’s chest is warm with arousal and something deeper that Carl doesn’t deserve. He rubs a thumb over a hardened nipple and smirks again as Assad moans, louder this time. It’s only when he rakes his nails over the others chest, leaving a trail of red lines between the hairs that Assad growls and thrusts up. Suddenly there’s a hand on Carl’s arm, he just looks down at it, ignores it and lets his heavy drunk head rest against Assad’s neck, biting and marking further. 

Assad’s right hand is still handcuffed to the metal bar but his left hand is clutching Carl’s arm tightly, he shakes him a bit, still no response. Well not the one he wanted, all he gets is more delicious strokes and the sound of his boss sucking hickeys into his neck. “Carl- fucking- just-“ finally something clicks and Carl completely lets go of him and gets up.

He can’t lie that it both physically and mentally hurts to have Carl pull away like that, the longing for those clever detective hands on his dick, is real. Carl just stands there for a bit, licks his lips and enjoys the view. Assad looks ravished, hair all mushed, shirt and sweater pushed up to reveal his toned stomach and hard dick poking out of his pants. 

Assad thinks the fight has run out of him, but when does that ever happen and right as he sees the glint in Carl’s eyes he knows they aren’t done. Carl starts pulling his pants down and Assad didn’t even notice when he lost the belt and opened his zipper because frankly it’s all going too fast.

Carl is on his lap again, warm and solid and Assad scrunches his eyebrows in pleasure and disbelief that Carl’s pushing him this far. Always fucking pushing everyone.

“Carl just say it man-“ He tries again but Carl’s already pushing Assad’s pants further down so he can get his dick properly out and Assad feels his heart beat faster. “Fucking just say you want me to stay!” He couldn’t believe he could actually form a proper sentence and he thinks Carl stopped in his track but instead he gets a hand over his mouth and a snarl of “just shut up and fuck me”. Assad still has his left hand free but he doesn’t stop Carl, the hand on his mouth making this rough territory and he can’t deny how fucking aroused he is. Carl knows it too, spits into his hand and jerks Assad a couple of more times before he sits on his cock.

Because he does moan.. his head falling back to rest against the wall behind him and his handcuffed hand gripping the metal bar tightly. Carl’s still got a hand pressed firmly over Assad’s mouth but the noises his partner makes behind his fingers are turning him on even more. He really shouldn’t be enjoying the muffled cries of pleasure this much but Carl already knows he’s fucked anyways, a bit of light bdsm wasn’t gonna surprise anyone. 

Assads free hand is caressing his thigh, once again that dumb idiot is trying to comfort him through the pain of being penetrated with only spit, and yeah Carl’s wincing from it but that’s the best part. The pain and roughness of it all. Because that’s all he deserves, no matter how worried and gentle Assad’s eyes look, he’s gonna take what he wants, his way. Carl bottoms out, is all the way down on Assad’s lap again, filled with cock and he knows Assad has been patient with him, sitting there all calm waiting for Carl to adjust.

For a moment he just sits there, breathing heavy and staring intensely back at Assad. He’s pretty sure he could hold this up for a bit longer, maybe punish his partner some more, see how long it would take for him to break and fuck up into him. Problem is, he’s never met anyone like Assad, who would probably sit there waiting forever just for him. It makes something painful throb in his chest and he remembers why he started drinking that night in the first place. 

He puts a hand on Assad’s broad shoulder and starts moving himself up, the hand on his thigh helping him carefully as his breath gets caught in his throat from the pain. It turns into growling moans after a bit of up and down, finally that spark of pleasure sneaking its way into Carl’s brain and he has to close his eyes to chase it cus Assad’s giving him that damn look again. He doesn’t need his words to get straight into Carl’s heart.

It’s smoother now, the way Carl hoists himself up and sinks deliciously tight down around Assad’s cock, making both men make noise; Carl a bitten back moan and Assad a muffled grunt. 

It’s getting harder for Assad to breathe now, with Carl picking up speed and his mouth covered and then that damn sweater everything feels suffocating. He scrunches his eyes closed and let’s his free hand rest further up on Carl’s hip, helping him move. Carl’s a fit guy but he’s also drunk and semi unstable and it’s clear his hands are still shaking. 

“You’re.. you’re gonna be a fucking joke up there..” Carl laughs bitterly, he knows he’s hurting Assad, the venom just comes so freely from his lips. “It’s a fucking pity promotion is what it is, and you know it.” The hurtful words from Carl makes Assad’s eyes flare back open with anger and hurt. He knows it’s what Carl wants, he fucking knows it’s what he does, hell- he’s been under this kind of fire for weeks.

It doesn’t stop him from straining against the handcuff, the metal squeaking as he launches for Carl’s throat. Only his free hand makes it and Carl chokes on his laugh, Assad’s big hand closing as best as it can around his throat in anger. Carl’s upper body is bend a bit back now, He lets his hand fall away from Assad’s mouth to clutch at his arm instead, the one choking him. 

It’s a battle of who’ll break first, Assad’s not speaking but he’s furious, Carl hit him right in his soft spot, people never taking him seriously cus he happened to be born in another country. “You’ll fucking miss me! You’ll fucking miss this!!”

It’s hard to speak, this amped up on anger and sex so Assad just starts thrusting. Which is what Carl wanted yeah he knows- but it’s just on the edge of being fucking fantastic. Finally getting to wipe that smirk of Carl’s dumb face, listening to his rattling breath as he fucks up into him. 

He lets go after a few thrusts, can tell Carl’s enjoying it, his flushed cock dripping pre-cum even without being touched. And it’s really a shame it hasn’t so Assad takes it in his hand. Once again he would rather spread pleasure than pain. Carl takes a few desperate lungs full of air now that he’s not being bend backwards and choked by Assad’s rough hand. 

It was so worth it he thinks, the hurt in Assad’s eyes and now the brutal thrusts he’s getting, a fat cock hammering up against his prostate and he’s moaning freely now, covering Assad’s hand in pre-cum and clutching at his shoulders

Assad’s grinding his teeth with how much he’s hating himself. Giving Carl what he wants and still enjoying himself, how could he be this fucked up? It’s all fucking Carl’s fault man. 

Stupid Carl with his cute curly brown hair that’s gone all damp and dangling down his forehead & his shirt half unbuttoned hanging off his shoulder, his tie strangely still on. Carl who will never moan his name but rather slurs and sometimes even women’s names just to piss Assad off more. He’s not having any of that tonight. Making sure to tighten his fist around the base of Carl’s cock every time he tries to say anything Assad doesn’t like. It’s cruel but he was the one who fucking started. 

Carl’s voice is all raspy and broken from alcohol and getting choked but he’s still getting slurs out in between thrusts. Assad wants to kiss his red bitten lips but he knows it’s off limits. It’s not how they do it. Carl would actually probably murder him if he tried. Even if he’s the one with his hand on Carl’s dick.

“Sofie..” is all it takes and Assad’s tightening his rough hand around Carl’s cock in warning before easing up again with a swirl of his thumb and Carl’s coming all over his fist. He’s trembling with it, his toes curling and Assad hisses with how tight he goes around his cock. He moans loud and drunken into Assad’s shoulder, not another girls name but something he can’t make out. 

It doesn’t matter because Carl’s turning soft in his hand and Assad needs to get off soon or it will be over. Carl will get up and leave and he’ll be left handcuffed and alone with a boner. Never a fun time. He thrusts a little frantically up into Carl’s still spasming hole, chasing his own high as he bites down on his partners exposed shoulder. The thought of Carl waking up the next morning with a huge bruise shaped in the form of his teeth is what sets him over the edge in the end. He’ll fucking hate it. Carl’s too tired and drunk to fight it.

Assad’s not as loud as Carl when he comes, years of having to hide his sexuality and desires has made him damaged. A few noises comes through but it’s mostly muffled against the angry red flaring love bite. 

Carl picks up on it but doesn’t push it, he’s slumped against Assad like a dead weight. They sit like that for a bit before Assad realizes Carl really did fall asleep on him and he has to figure out how to get out of the handcuff before his hand falls further asleep. 

He’s calming down a bit first, letting them untangle from each other, gently pulling out and putting Carl on his back on the sofa. He’s sleeping soundly, a calm expression on his usual frowny face, for once. 

Assad sighs and feels around for the key on the table next to the sofa, or the light switch or anything that will help him but he comes up empty. He sits back down and lets Carl’s legs rest on his lap, the overworked detective finally getting some sleep. Even after all that- Assad still feels something for him.

He laughs lowly at his own stupidity, the noise seeming strange in the now quiet room. He can’t even take off his damn hot sweater cus the handcuff is still on. He falls asleep like that. Sitting up, hurt emotionally and physically by Carl Mørck.

The same Carl who wakes up first the next morning, by some miracle, hangover headache making his mind thick with confusion and pain and a throbbing in his ass he can’t recall. At first. Until he blinks awake and sees the pitiful sight Assad makes, still handcuffed with angry red marks on his neck and arm. He looks a little ruffled still even if his dick is back in his pants and sweater semi back to normal.

Carl’s on his back and he can’t get up cus the room is spinning, except for when he looks straight forward which happens to be at Assad. “Du en idiot. Selvfølglig vil jeg ikke ha du skrider..” (you’re an idiot, off course I don’t want you to leave) Assad’s still sleeping but he reacts to Carl’s voice and breathes out in a calming manner that in turn makes Carl’s chest a little less pained. He won’t survive without Assad, what the fuck is he gonna do.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the random danish dialogue, sometimes it just flows better in my mind in Danish.


End file.
